Free Fix You by Beck Anderson Page A

for a daredevil.”
    He exhales loudly, takes another drink of his Coke. “I’m not afraid of risk. It’s just better for me to be conservative. There’s some switch missing in me. I tend to have a hard time finding a balance.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “All things in moderation, right?”
    I’m not following. “Yeah. So?”
    “So, very often I can’t do that. I don’t know how to do that. Some things I can’t do at all. Some risks I can’t back away from once I jump in. It’s complicated.”
    “What kind of risks?”
    “Let’s just say I’m at my best when I’m working. If I’m not busy I tend to brood.”
    “Really?”
    “I’ve been known to blow off steam in not-so-healthy ways.” He eats another fry off my plate.
    My stomach knots up. This new information doesn’t feel good. I fight off the urge to worry by looking for something to distract me, a way to escape this conversation.
    A large group of women are coming down the sidewalk in our direction. They’re loud, laughing. “We should go before those girls walk by. If anyone’s going to spot you, a herd of single women will.”
    He smiles, scoops up his Coke, and waits for me to walk with him down the street. “Lead on, tour director.”
    “Our next stop took me a while to choose. If it were summer, we’d go fly-fishing. But the river’s frigid now. They release trout this time of year, but I don’t like suffering. Plus I never catch anything, anyway. We could go up to Sun Valley like you were supposed to and see Hemingway’s grave, fly fish in Silver Creek. But it’s too snowy up there now. In Boise, if it were full-on winter, we’d go skiing. Do you ski?”
    He shakes his head. “This weekend was supposed to have been my first time—though I was going to snowboard.”
    “Well, skiing takes a while to get into, from my experience. I did not have fun the first couple times.” We’re at the car. “Plus, I would hate it if you got hurt or anything. Someone would probably sue me. And skiing’s hard to love after you get hurt, take my word for it. It took me more than a few seasons after I broke my leg to get back into it. And it’s never been quite the same, to be honest.”
    We’re in the car now. He raises his eyebrows at me. “You still ski?”
    “Well, the boys like it. It’s a good family thing to do. And Peter was amazing, so it was fun to ski with him.”
    He looks at me closely. It feels like he’s trying to put something together. “Do you sometimes feel like you do a lot of stuff you don’t really want to do?”
    I don’t know where he’s going with this. “Sure. Having a family is about that sometimes.”
    He sits back. “Huh.”
    I start the car. “Huh, what?”
    “Well, I just wonder if I’d be good at that.” He smiles at me.
    I shake my head. “You don’t have to be good at it. It just happens. It’s called compromise.”
    His phone vibrates, and he jumps a little. He pulls it out of his coat pocket in surprise. He stares at the screen for a second before silencing it.
    My heart sinks. “Was that important?” I can’t help but think it’s the real world calling—they want their movie star back.
    He sighs. “Naw. It’s my agent. He’s probably put two and two together about me not being in Sun Valley. He worries a lot.”
    “Do you need to call him? Should you call him?”
    He stares down at the phone. I can’t read the expression on his face. I have this weird feeling he’s in trouble, that we’re in trouble—like ditching-class trouble or something. “Did you have to do something this weekend?”
    “No. I don’t need to call. I’ll text and tell him I’m visiting a friend. That’s all he needs to know. And no, I wasn’t contractually obligated to appear in Sun Valley.” There’s a bitterness to his voice in that last sentence.
    I shrink a little. I hope I haven’t upset him. “Sorry. Sorry I brought it up.”
    He shakes himself out of it, tucks the phone back in his